


On the Way Home

by mariothellama



Series: Occasional glimpses into Matze and Auba's relationship [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Auba's POV, Borussia Dortmund, Bundesliga, Champions League, M/M, Matze's POV, Oral Sex, Realising you've fallen in love, Reflecting on a new relationship, mention of sexual activity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariothellama/pseuds/mariothellama
Summary: A glimpse inside Auba's mind on the flight back from the Champions League match against Legia Warsaw as he reflects on his new relationship with Matze. And Marco even manages to work his way inside there! And Mario! Chapter two takes place five days later, on the bus to the airport after the game against Wolfsburg, as Matze thinks about how their relationship has changed over the past week.





	1. The Flight Back from Warsaw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blue_Night](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Night/gifts).



> My dear Blue_Night, I couldn't leave you all on your own writing Aubinter, so I hope you forgive this intrusion into the wonderful relationship that you have created. This story takes place sometime between the events described in 'Hotel Nights' and 'Home Nights'. I hope my Auba and Matze don't disrespect the characters you have created too much, as the story of their relationship is 100% based on your writing of them and the conversations we have had about them.
> 
> The non-Blue_Night inspired sections of this work are based on four photographs taken during or around that game.

Auba settled back in his seat. They really did have the coolest Mannschaftsairbus. Every time it landed anywhere, people took photos of it and flooded social media with them. But it was theirs and theirs alone for the Champions League. The plane made him think. Maybe now would be a good time to bring out that new red Ferrari he had stashed away?

He knew he had to be careful. People respected him now. He’d earned that respect through hard work, talent and his obvious loyalty to Borussia Dortmund, but he was still a bit of a glamorous bird of paradise in the Ruhrgebiet, even though he was positively shy and retiring compared to the average player in the English Premier League.

Poor Marco had to be even more cautious. He was finally able to drive legally, but the days of the Aston Martin were behind him. Although Auba questioned how long Marco would be able to last before turning up in a sports car again. Maybe Auba could give Marco a ride in the new Ferrari? That would be fun.

Auba was sitting next to Marc. With all the new arrivals, the fact that Auba could speak French and Spanish had suddenly become very useful to the team. But he looked past his teammate, across the aisle to where Matze was sitting.

The team had celebrated last night and most of them were trying to rest as they would be going straight to training from the airport. Auba knew that Matze was hoping to be in the starting lineup on Saturday. He knew how important this was for Matze, that this was the crucial year in which Matze had the chance to really establish himself in Dortmund.

That was one reason why Auba had felt so conflicted about what was happening between them. He was safe, secure, the star striker (although he hated to think of himself that way). He was the player of whom Dortmund had said that there was no sum of money they would sell him for. But Matze, while incredibly talented and a world champion, was in a different phase of his career. Needing that next step forward. Auba understood that completely. That had been him when he was around Matze’s age, before Dortmund. A promising player, but always on loan, never truly having a team to call home. Until Dortmund.

But he couldn’t resist Matze. Auba's mind went back to the flight to Warsaw, the first time they had had to travel in their suits this season. Auba could rock most looks. But the shirts that went with their suits this year really were revolting, a horrible shade of blue, shiny and stiff looking. And the tie. Yuck! ... (Maybe the board would let him and Marco design their formal wear for next season? That would be fun, he mused) ... He had to admit that Roman B. looked hot in this year's outfit, although he did look a bit too much like a business man as young Wriggle had so cheekily posted on Instagram.

Matze, however, looked simply edible in his suit, his broad frame and strong shoulders carrying it off to perfection. Auba had watched Matze signing autographs in the airport as they were leaving, totally unconscious of his own beauty, desperately hoping that nobody would notice how long Auba’s gaze lingered on Matze and how he ran his tongue longingly over his upper lip. It was of course Matze’s skin that Auba longed to run his tongue over.

Matze’s beauty wasn’t just physical. It came from within. His physical strength was matched by an inner strength, a strength of character, a solidity. That was one reason why they complemented each other so well. Matze was a strength Auba could lean on, while Auba could make Matze believe he could soar to the sky. Yes, Matze was solid. That summed him up. But that was no bad thing. And his slight awkwardness transformed into incredible grace and fluidity of movement on the pitch. And it was the same in bed.

***

Auba’s mind went back to that fateful night in their shared hotel room. He had walked in on Matze masturbating. Auba had felt awful, knowing that Matze would probably be private and reserved about such things. Marco would have just told Auba to fuck off and leave the room until he was finished. Actually Marco would just have asked for half an hour of 'alone time' in the first place. After all it was Marco who had named Auba’s cock after too much beer one night!

Auba still had no idea what had made him offer to help Matze out. Even less idea why Matze had said yes. And still less idea from where he had taken the courage to blow Matze. Matze had felt so good in his mouth, hot, thick and hard, skin smooth like silk. And he had tasted even better, coming hard down Auba’s throat. They had rutted against each other after that, both of them coming all over each other's bodies. Sticky and sweaty, they had showered together, Matze jerking Auba off in the shower, every stroke, every touch feeling like complete bliss. But the most revealing thing of all had been the soft kiss Auba had placed on the back of Matze’s neck before sleep.

It hadn’t just been one night. There had been others since then. Other blow jobs and hand jobs. Although they hadn’t made love in the way that many people would think of as sex, the sex had been the best of Auba’s life. And there was kissing. Cuddling. Talking. All the little things of the everyday life of a couple. Auba knew that they were skating on thin ice.

***

He had realised just how much Matze meant to him last night. This had been a big game for them. They were the favourites. But the slightly crazy team that was Borussia Dortmund preferred to be underdogs. And the stakes were high after they had fucked up in Leipzig. The media had jumped on this as usual, calling it a crisis.

One of the many things that Auba feared about another ‘Dortmund crisis’ was that Marco might feel he had to try to come back before he was 100% fully fit. He missed Marco and he knew that Matze missed Erik. They owed it to their friends to make sure that Dortmund were still in the Champions League after the group stage. And with Real in their group, losing in Warsaw would have been a big setback.

But last night had been glorious. Mario had scored after only seven minutes, his first goal since coming home. Auba had been overjoyed for him. He understood that Mario had to prove himself again for many of their fans. But the criticism of Mario in the media had gone way beyond what a young man should have to bear. And as for calling him fat! The next one to do that within earshot of Auba would get a punch on the nose.

Mario had laughed it all off. But Auba knew it must hurt. Knew because he felt the same weight of responsibility now. Schü and Mario were awesome, but it would take time. The kids were awesome, but nobody had expectations of them. And with Marco still in rehab and their trusted right-hand man having flown the nest, Auba was now the most experienced long-standing Dortmund player up front.

It was time for him to take responsibility. But, while he was playing well, the ball just wasn’t going in for him. And it had been like that again last night. Dortmund scored goal after goal. It seemed like everyone scored except Auba. Castro had only needed thirty seconds on the pitch to score! Auba was delighted for the team, as always. But then it finally happened for him. In the 87th minute. OK, not a crucial goal at 6:0. But it mattered all the same.

Matze was on the pitch, having come on as a substitute. After the final whistle, Matze had come running towards Auba, his right arm outstretched. And in that moment Auba had known what he wanted. He wanted Matze to make him complete. He had longed to be able to hug Matze, to thread his fingers through Matze’s soft brown hair, to bury his face in the familiar comforting spot between Matze’s neck and shoulder. And, if he was totally sure that nobody would see, to plant a kiss on the soft, fragrant skin of Matze’s throat.

***

Auba looked down at his phone, careful to avoid letting Marc seeing what he was looking at. He was looking again at the group selfie he had posted the night before. In his euphoria, he had scrawled the word ‘victory’ across it. But what he was looking at now was Matze behind him in the photo. 

Matze had been close enough for Auba to feel Matze's breath on the back of his neck. Close enough that Auba could smell his intoxicating scent, fresh from the shower. Auba was still having to train himself not to look at Matze in the shower or Auba’s body would definitely betray his feelings to their teammates. Marco suspected of course. And probably Erik. But they could trust them to keep their secret. Matze was grinning wildly with infectious enthusiasm in the photo and his soft hair looked fluffy and almost golden in the light of the camera flash.

Auba turned to look again at the flesh-and-blood Matze sitting across the aisle from him. This time Matze realised that Auba was looking at him and blushed faintly. How Auba loved it when Matze blushed. Even more when it was him making Matze blush. And Auba had made his decision. When the time was right, he would tell Matze that he loved him.


	2. On the Bus to the Airport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear Blue_Night. This wasn't at all what I had planned to write, but Matze had other ideas last night. I hope that I have continued to do justice to this wonderful and unusual pairing you have created. The longer they are part of my life, the more right, obvious and natural they seem together, the more they complete each other.
> 
> I am afraid that I have taken the liberty of borrowing your 'Matthieu' as neither 'Matthias' or 'Matze' seemed to work at the crucial moment, but Auba is speaking French here. Our Matze is still a little poetic in the language he uses to think about being with Auba; he's not prudish, but this is all still very new to him. That will, of course, change over time!
> 
> I hope that you take this chapter as a very small token of appreciation for all that you have written for us.

Matze settled back in his seat. Thankfully they wouldn’t be back in Dortmund too late tonight. But the bus journey from Wolfsburg to the airport at Braunschweig was long enough to relax. He hadn’t expected to play tonight. He’d expected to play on Friday against his home team, the team where he began his career as a professional player. Until Marc had had to be substituted. Adductor problems. This team really didn’t need any more players with adductor problems!

Their last games had ended with impressive results. The press had made jokes about the scores looking more like a tennis match than a game of football! But Darmstadt hadn’t really tested them defensively. And tonight they had been lucky. Truth be told, Roman had saved them. Literally. Matze shuddered at the memory of having to stand _behind_ Roman in the net while Roman and half the team desperately tried to clear the ball over and over again. It was a miracle that Wolfsburg hadn’t scored then.

Tonight had been a victory for their shining, glittery offense, the stars of Borussia Dortmund. For players like the brilliant young Guerreiro, a European Champion at twenty-two, having actually played in the final.

And Auba had been at his shimmering best tonight. He had scored twice. He had been magnificent, leaping high into the air in celebration, running up the pitch with his arms spread wide in his euphoria. That was the problem in Matze’s head. Auba was their most glittering shining star of all. And he … Matze … was … what? The trusty back-up defender? Matze sighed to himself.

Auba had said that Matze was his rock, his strong foundation. Matze knew that everyone thought he was solid, the reliable one. Being a rock wasn’t very glamorous though. But what Auba had said next had taken his breath away: _A diamond is a rock, Matthias. When it is dug out of the ground it looks just like any old rock. You need to have the eyes to be able to see its potential and value. And once cut and polished, a diamond is the strongest and most precious and glittering gem_.

Matze had had to blink away the tears in his eyes when Auba said this. He felt slightly embarrassed at the memory. He had cried when they lost in the Olympic final too. In front of the television cameras. But, once home, Auba had taken him in his arms and soothed him. Told him that it was OK. That it meant that he cared. And that Auba understood. Sometimes it was just too painful to keep coming second.

This time he hadn’t run to Auba when he scored. Matze didn’t really know why. Somehow things had changed between them after the Champions League game in Warsaw. He saw it in the way Auba looked at him. Deeper. More intense. Like he was trying to look into Matze’s soul.

Matze didn’t want to hug Auba in public, didn’t want to pretend that it was just a friendly hug between teammates when they were so much more. He didn’t want to play games with feelings that were deep and real and scary. That was too painful now.

They hadn’t had much time alone since Warsaw. Their schedule was just too hectic: train; play; travel; repeat. But they had been able to spend one glorious night together. Matze blushed as he replayed his memory of that evening, relieved that the bus was dark enough that none of his teammates could see him. Although Auba had told him that he was beautiful when he blushed … 

***

Auba lay on his front on the bed, naked and exposed to Matze’s greedy gaze, his head pillowed on his strong arms. Auba’s back truly was a work of art. Matze bit his lip at the sight of the play of shifting muscles as Auba squirmed on the bed, seeking some relief from this sweet torture by rubbing his erection against the sheet.

The actual artwork was the massive tattoo that covered the whole of Auba’s upper back, a noble eagle astride a map of Africa. Auba had lived his entire life in Europe, but he was proud of his African heritage, of coming from Gabon. He had chosen to play his international football for Gabon, even if that meant he might never get to play in a World Cup.

The wings of the mighty bird were draped across Auba’s back, reaching up over his shoulder blades, their feathery tips brushing against the bones of his shoulders. When he moved, the eagle's wings fluttered as if Auba himself was a bird about to take flight.

Matze lowered his head, tracing the line of the map of Africa inked into Auba’s skin with his tongue, slowly, ever so slowly, over and over again. Auba loved it when he did that, moaning in encouragement.

Auba rolled over, exposing his smooth, toned chest. Matze kissed over the gorgeous fragrant skin, moving relentlessly towards Auba’s nipple, licking, sucking and biting until Auba was groaning uncontrollably. Releasing the now red and erect nipple, Matze captured its mate, suckling his prey, making Auba’s body arch off the bed.

Auba’s right hand was entangled in Matze’s hair. He felt Auba’s grip tighten, he clearly wanted … needed… more. Matze’s hot lips and tongue kissed and licked a wet trail across Auba’s taut stomach, caressing the defined ridges of worked-out muscle, pausing to dip a tongue in Auba’s navel, making him cry out with sudden unexpected pleasure. Being able to draw such a strong reaction from Auba gave Matze the courage to move lower.

The sensation of Matze’s breath ghosting across the sensitive tip of Auba’s manhood drew a sharp intake of breath from the older man. Finally Auba begged in a breathless mixture of French and German, ‘Matthieu. Bitte. Bitte. Matthieu!’ But Matze wasn’t done with his teasing. He loved the fact that he could make Auba beg and moan, that _he_ could do this to Auba.

He ran his tongue along Auba’s impressive length, all the way from the base to just below the sensitive head. Gently at first, then again and again, increasing the pressure with each stroke. By now Auba was moaning incoherently. Matze licked softly over the head of Auba’s penis, exploring the slit with his tongue, lapping up the creamy fluid that had leaked from it.

Then finally he took Auba in his mouth, luxuriating in the taste and feel of him, warm and thick and heavy on his tongue. This was still new enough to Matze that he wasn’t able to take his lover deep into his mouth, so he used his hand to stroke him as well, setting up a steady rhythm, causing Auba to buck his hips up off the bed. And then the warning. ‘Matthieu! Je vais jouir!’ Matze swallowed deeply, drinking down everything Auba had to give him, before lifting his head in time to be able to see the last traces of ecstasy fade from Auba’s face to be replaced with a blissed out smile.

***

Matze dragged his thoughts back to the present as the bus drew to a halt. As they emerged into the September night air, the man who had been sitting next to him shivered. Matze smiled to himself. The minute it got cold, Auba started layering up with as many clothes as possible in training. That was one of the many things Auba and Marco had in common, along with a love of tattoos, fast cars and their - how could he put it? - ‘interesting’ taste in music.

Matze realised that he wasn’t at all jealous of Marco and Auba’s friendship; in fact he was relieved that they could share these things without him having to pretend to be interested for Auba’s sake. Marco and Auba had even gone to the tattoo artist together, something Matze had _no_ intention of doing.

Matze too came from the warmer south. A journalist had once asked him one of those stupid questions they always have to, about the difference between Dortmund and Freiburg. His answer had been simple: the weather was better in Freiburg! But Matze didn’t seem to feel the cold. He had his own internal central heating system. He played in subzero temperatures without even wearing a long-sleeved undershirt

Matze vowed that the long German winter would be different for Auba this year. He would be there to keep his Auba warm, to keep the older man all snug and toasty, wrapped up with his love and his body. His love? Yes, Matze had to face the truth. He loved Auba. And, when the time was right, he would tell him so.


End file.
